In Treatment
Discovering the ins and outs of treatments and therapies. Join the conversation today.
A Socially Acceptable Addiction
On February 14, 2012, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I was 15-years-old, a sophomore in high school, and I was perpetually moody, or rather, as my mother likes to say, “temporarily insane.” I was fortunate enough to have been surrounded by diabetes my whole life, as my father, uncle, and aunt are all Type 1 diabetics, so this diagnosis did not force me to completely change my lifestyle. The diagnosis itself was just shocking. After all, I was post-puberty and the disease was supposed to skip generations. I’m usually a “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” type of person, but I just could not do it this time. I tail-spun into a deep depression and began comforting myself with food. Not only was I now officially a diabetic, but also a compulsive overeater.
Olivia CoxPublished 6 years ago in PsycheThe Healing of Pain
Truly healing our pain is very simple as a concept but can be extraordinarily challenging in practice. More often than not, we confuse healing pain at the root with temporary symptom relief.
Michael ThielmannPublished 6 years ago in PsycheLiving with BPD
I’ve struggled with my mental health for as long as I can remember. I have always realised that I was “different” from everyone else but couldn’t quite work out why. As a child, I didn’t follow the crowd, I did my own thing, and that suited me just fine. I was bullied severely throughout primary school which damaged me more than I originally thought. I had a “Day Dreamer Chart” at school because I was never able to keep focused.
Leia WallerPublished 6 years ago in PsychePain Words Cannot Express
Pain Words Cannot Express “I’m not hungry,” I would say with conviction as I stared at my dinner plate and felt my stomach grumble. This had become my catchphrase when I was a young teenager, and most of the time, I could get away with it. It was easy to skip breakfast on a school day—I could slip out the front door to catch the bus before anyone else was awake and could monitor my eating. During lunch hour I would lie to my friends and say I snacked on my lunch throughout my classes and was no longer hungry. Dinner by far was the hardest to get around, with both my parents and all four sisters carefully observing my dinner plate. If I was lucky, I could serve up my own food in tiny portions. But when my mom finally suggested to me that I might have anorexia nervosa, I was in denial. I felt there was nothing that could set me free of the trial I was being devoured by, especially since I wouldn’t admit my own weaknesses. That was, at least, until I was introduced to art therapy. Finally, through this process of self-expression, I was directed down a path where I accepted my eating disorder and reached out for the help I so desperately needed. Because of this experience, I have since learned the benefits of using art in recovery, and am a strong advocate of it. Art therapy should be used in every anorexia treatment because it easily connects the patients inner-turmoil to verbal expression. I believe this is an exercise than can benefit anyone struggling with an eating disorder.
Marissa GarnerPublished 6 years ago in PsycheIt's Okay to Be in Pain
One of my goals as a counselor has been to do my best to shatter destructive societal belief systems. I can think of no belief stronger and more deeply ingrained in the human psyche than, "It is not okay to be in pain."
Michael ThielmannPublished 6 years ago in Psyche- Top Story - April 2018
Therapy Isn't Selfish
Recently, someone boldly announced that therapy was senseless in that it was simply a time where the patient got to talk about themselves for an hour. They went on to imply that this was a selfish act by saying things like, "If you're a person that needs to pay someone to listen to you talk about yourself for an hour... *shrugs* that just seems weird and unnecessary." I didn't know what to say...so I didn't say anything, and then I felt even worse.
Francis GracePublished 6 years ago in Psyche Mental Health, Alcohol, and Finding Yourself
"Who are you?" "What are your interests?" "What are you good at?" "Where do you see yourself in the future?" All of these questions. At age 23, still unanswered. How do you respond when you haven't known yourself in years, and are unsure if you ever did? My denial started 15 years ago. My diagnoses six years ago. I was always the quiet one. The girl who did not have many friends, and avoided relationships when I could. The girl who could not figure out why she lacked interest in activities. The girl who spent her days sleeping, and in online chat rooms, pretending to be someone else, avoiding actual human contact. At eight years old, all I wondered, is why I was so different than my peers. I spent many years wondering but eventually grew to think that, how I was feeling, was just who I was. I sat envious of the girls who seemed to have it together. The ones who were so popular and made friends easily. When people would try to talk with me, I gave short responses, if any at all. I spent all hour of the day and night locked away in my room, talking to strangers. "I am fine. I just did not sleep well," I would respond when people asked me what was wrong. I would burst into tears in the school counselors office, not knowing why I was crying. I could not control myself. Towards the end of high school, I was asked what I wanted to do in the future. But how could I respond to that question, when I did not see myself being alive after the age of 18. Two failed attempts at my life, and I was determined to get it right eventually.
Fighting ED
On February 21, 2018 I started a program to take back my life from my eating disorder. I had my ED for about a year without even realizing. I was so down on my body and thought the only way to change that was to make myself throw up. Throughout the years, I tried to restrict more and more — not allowing myself to have certain foods, and if I did making sure that I was purging right after. My mom eventually caught on, she asked and asked if I have ever purged and I told her that I would never do that. I began lying to myself. Just one more time, I told myself. I became depressed and didn’t want to go anywhere because if I did I would be forced to eat in front of people which is something that made me feel very uncomfortable. I truly believed that I had it under control. I weighed myself multiple times throughout the day and would lie to my mom about it. I began to feel more and more dizzy and felt ashamed of the way I looked. I felt more depressed and felt like I was lying to the people I loved. I had completely shut down.
Published 6 years ago in PsycheAn OCD Story: It's More Than Just Cleanliness and Counting
It was October 18th, 2016—a Tuesday. I had decided that this would be the day that I was finally going to go and speak with a professional about what had been troubling me since mid-August of that year. I remember being very tired and extremely nauseous. I was most likely tired because I had stayed up the night before riding the never-ending mental carousel as I chased "the thoughts" around my head, and I was most likely nauseous because, at that point in time, I had almost literally become a 5'8", blonde-haired ball of nerves.
Jacqueline DeWittPublished 6 years ago in Psyche7 Weeks in Treatment
I realize I did quite a poor job at actually explaining what being in treatment was like; if you read my post from February 26, 2018 then you got a glace at what my first day in treatment was like. My entire stay lasted 7 weeks, although I did get trial days at school as my discharge date got closer.
Amanda OlejniczakPublished 6 years ago in PsycheLiving with Borderline Personality Disorder – Rx Me Good, Part 2
Happy New Year to me. My plate was full. In fact, it was MORE than full—it was overflowing. With my son in kindergarten, me working 6.5 hours a day while being in online college courses, trying to balance my fitness goals as well as keeping my home life/personal relationships stable—the universe was weighing on my shoulders. Normally, this pressure would have been MORE than enough to break me down, but in a relieving turn of events, the medicine my psychiatrist prescribed to me was WORKING. No longer was I waking up in the dead of night in a panic. I could answer the phone without my heart racing and my fear rising into my throat. No longer were my actions and emotions unpredictable; my mind was clear and suddenly I was able to experience life in a way that I had always dreamed of—without dread, without hopelessness, without fear.
Jess DidwayPublished 6 years ago in PsycheDealing With Mental Health Issues
Growing up, I always struggled in school. There was never a year where I could just sit back and relax and not have to worry about failing all my classes. I was "diagnosed" with a learning disability at a young age, though, so I was able to get the extra help that I needed, but it was definitely never enough. I also struggled at home, constantly forgetting to do chores or small tasks my mom would ask me to do and I would always get in trouble for it. I was never the kid to talk back to their parents. My mother wouldn’t tolerate it if I tried anyways, but it wasn’t like I was a bad kid. The only times I would get in trouble was me just "forgetting" about something either at home or at school.
Sarah BurrPublished 6 years ago in Psyche